The Black'ning Tempests Roll
by Vendelyn Silverhawk
Summary: Mermaid AU. After the second Great War, tiny Steve Rogers is finally accepted into the navy because no one expects to go to war again. His best friend Bucky is secretly a mermaid, and while SHIELD looks for suitable super soldier material- nuclear deterrent anyone?- a weakened Hydra continues to search for the occult, namely Homo nymphae... Steve/Peggy, Bucky/Natasha, Howard/Maria.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: So, this is NOT a Stucky fic, it's clearly Steve/Peggy and Bucky/Nat, but expect plenty of bromance and feels worthy of Stucky, I think. Also, this is set in an alternate world where WWII has just happened but the world map is aligned differently and Steve/Captain America wasn't part of the war because the super soldier serum wasn't finished in time. Because I'm choosing to ignore modern history starting after WWII, suspend any and all disbelief as to the politics of my world map. S.H.I.E.L.D. is a thing, and people think that Hydra died with the Red Skull. However, because WWI obviously wasn't the "War to end all wars," the superpowers are still on edge about lasting peace and America especially is starting to like the idea of a nuclear deterrent a la supersoldier, so Erskine's work is continuing even though it's peacetime. Enjoy.**

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"Yes! I am chang'd - My heart, my soul,  
Retain no more their former glow.  
Hence, ere the black'ning tempests roll,  
I watch the bark, in murmurs low,  
(While darker low'rs the thick'ning' gloom)  
To lure the sailor to his doom;  
Soft from some pile of frozen snow  
I pour the syren-song of woe;  
Like the sad mariner's expiring cry,  
As, faint and worn with toil, he lays him down to die."

~ _Poems By Anne Bannerman_

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To: Madame Hydra

From: Arnim Zola

Subject: Super Soldier Program

Madame Hydra,

You have made it abundantly clear in recent months that your patience with Hydra's inability to apprehend Dr. Abraham Erskine is waning, and understandably so. S.H.I.E.L.D. has been increasing its security and now that he has been brought to America it is unlikely he will ever be found, but allow me to offer an alternate solution to the unique "problem" his research in the super soldier serum has presented. Since the fall of the Red Skull in the last Great War Hydra has been on the decline, and if I am to be punished for that statement, so be it; it is the truth and both of us know it, if none others do. S.H.I.E.L.D. believes that the Red Skull was the final head, that Hydra has been decimated- I now propose that we use that to our advantage and stop risking exposure by taking our hunt for Erskine straight to the American's doorstep. Even if by some miracle we manage to apprehend him, it will be a clear sign to the Allies that Hydra lives and we will not be strong enough to survive a second onslaught.

Therefore, take into consideration one aspect of Hydra that very nearly brought us to victory, before sealing our destruction; the occult. The Red Skull proved that the goals Hydra was founded on were achievable with the discovery of the tesseract, which means that there could be more to his theories of science and magic than we now give credence. There is infinitely more proof outlining the existence of other occult and mythological powers than there was surrounding the tesseract, Odin's Jewel. In this era where science is hailed as the future, as it always has been, perhaps Hydra's true power lies in our ability to look to the magic of the past. Without a super soldier serum of our own, Hydra will be destroyed before it can conquer anything, but the serum itself does not have to be Erskine's. According to our latest intelligence he has very nearly perfected it, and American trials will surely begin soon- they will not want to take any risks following the events of the past thirty years. If a third war is coming, they will make sure that they are in a position to win before making any moves of their own.

In your recent seclusion you have trusted Hydra's sciences division to make progress, but capturing Erskine has ceased to be a viable plan of action. I offer instead Project File X547, one of the Red Skull's hidden files preceding the second Great War and put in purgatory after his death. Codename: Winter Soldier outlines the viability of using the DNA of Hydronymphus rusalka (otherwise Homo nymphae) to create a super soldier serum more advanced than that of Erskine, including all of the traits he will soon perfect and more. The ability to shift form and potentially DNA sequence will be essential to undercover missions, and the amphibious elements of Homo nymphae offer a decided advantage. There are centuries of folklore behind the existence of these creatures, and proof- however dubious- has surfaced in greater frequency as modern technology advances. If the funds and manpower concerning the hunt for Erskine and the duplication of his serum were diverted instead to the apprehension of Homo nymphae, Hydra could create the next wave of soldiers and warfare, and even the superpower of America could not stand in the way of our goals.

With greatest respect,

Doctor Arnim Zola

Hydra Deep Sciences Division

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To: Arnim Zola

From: Madame Hydra

Subject: Super Soldier Serum

Doctor,

You have my interest and the resources previously devoted to the hunt for Erskine. Prove to me before the year is out and the Americans have an army that your "Mermaid Theory" is not lunacy of the degree of the Red Skull, and you shall find yourself rewarded greatly. Standing orders to terminate Erskine should the opportunity arise remain in effect.

Madame Hydra

The First Head

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**A/N: I know, pathetically short, but next chapter will get to the actual narrative. And mermaids! This fic will be updated on a weekly basis to accommodate work and my other fic, which you should all check out, called "The Risk of Absence" which is also a Winter Soldier fic.**

_Review!_


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: This chapter is pretty slow, but there will be some action in this fic (in later chapters, I'm predicting nine or ten). For now, though, it's pretty slow and steady and just an exploration of relationships and stuff.**

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He'd always been fascinated by humans, but this one was different in a way that was infinitely more exciting than others he'd encountered over the years, his lifetime jumping between land and sea.

James flicked his tail lazily as he watched Steve draw, feet kicking the water as his pencil slid across the empty pages of his notebook. This was the fifth time this week the small blond sailor had come to the docks to draw and it would be a lie for James to tell himself that he wasn't looking forward to seeing him again.

From his position behind the jagged remains of an old pier spiking up from the water James was almost completely obscured, only out of the water to his shoulders as he treaded in the Hudson River harbor. It wasn't the nicest water in the world, and was on the bottom of the list as far as healthy living for any sane merman, but who could resist the siren call of a human city so vibrantly alive as New York? James was a member of that radical school of thought that believed mermaids were born with fins and legs for a reason, although his conservative cousins disagreed to the point of living as far away from human populated waters as possible, and never shifting their tails if they could avoid it.

The man currently drawing was worth shifting for, James reminisced, if only to be able to look over his shoulder and see what he was drawing today. The sun turned his straw-spun hair to gold and illuminated an Irish-pale complexion worsened by the chronic sickness James could practically feel radiating from him, heard in every rasping breath he took. Between those thin shoulders and beneath that jutting collarbone was a weak heart and even weaker lungs, showing in sunken cheeks and a humiliating lack of height in comparison to the burly dock workers. For all his physical defects, however, the man's smile was blinding and it made James want to risk land just to make it appear, the gentle tugging up of those kind lips and maybe even a laugh.

But it was too light out to risk transforming, and not on a work day when there were people who might catch a glimpse of his vivid mother-of-pearl tail melting into legs. So he settled for watching as Steve drew, memorizing his pencil strokes and ignoring the itch in his tail that demanded to split him apart.

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Bucky's fist sank into the man's jaw with a satisfying crunch that sent the bully reeling, blood boiling like the rage of waves crashing in a storm. He was the sea, a hurricane and because he couldn't drown the man he settled for giving him a sharp kick that sent him sprawling on the gritty cobbled sidewalk, watching the bully gauge if it was worth it to continue antagonizing Steve at the risk of getting beat up.

"Get out of here," Bucky snarled, and the man booked it until he was out of sight.

"I was fine," Steve complained, wiping the blood off a split lip that begged to differ. "I could've taken him, Buck."

"Yeah, and I'm a unicorn," Bucky snorted. "You've gotta stop picking fights like this- I'm not always around to bail out your sorry ass."

"Jerk," Steve muttered. Bucky tugged on his wrinkled jacket and grinned.

"Punk."

Bucky threw an easy arm around Steve's shoulders as they exited the alley and into the busy New York streets, eyes scanning for any potential trouble crawling in the bright streets. Overhead the stars wheeled, or would have if they hadn't been blinded by the city lights below, and each pinprick of light on the harbor water behind them set it aflame.

"What was it this time? He disrespect the Navy?" Bucky asked.

"He was bothering a dame," Steve said, and Bucky groaned. "Come on, I couldn't just let him hassle her!"

"A dame probably could have taken a pig like him- what else are heels for? You've gotta stop trying to be a white knight," Bucky chastised, glancing down at his friend and painfully aware of the fact that Steve was much too brave for the restrictions of his body.

He was small for a Navy sailor, and the only reason he'd been accepted was because it was peacetime and no one expected to go to war again after the disaster that was the Second Great War. Just because he was in uniform didn't mean life was made any less difficult though, because if there was anything Steve was it was determined to get himself into trouble.

Feisty and fueled with righteous anger towards anyone who disrespected humanity, dames, common decency, it was his pluck that attracted Bucky in the first place, and the fact that he was getting beat up on right by the water where Bucky was relaxing. Not one to let injustice stand idly by and especially not someone as fragile as the sailor who'd come in on the U.S.S. Avenger a few days ago, Bucky had slipped to his hiding spot further down, changed into clothes, and flown to the rescue.

Although the asthmatic man wasn't overly thankful- "I had 'em on the ropes"- it had sparked the beginning of a long and prodigious friendship for the both of them, but probably mostly for Steve since whenever he docked in New York Bucky was there to save him from all of the fights he insisted on getting into. Normally involving some poor girl's right not to be harassed, yes, but still confrontations that Steve's skinny body couldn't afford.

It was lucky that Steve had chosen the setting sun as a backdrop for his fight, otherwise Bucky would have had to risk exposure in order to save him- nowhere on the docks was safe from prying eyes, even at night, but during the daylight hours it was almost guaranteed someone would see Bucky Barnes, resident ghost of Brooklyn, turning his giant tail into a pair of legs.

Shadows lengthened as they got farther into the city, talking, joking, catching up after Steve's six month tour around South Africa- the place had been in turmoil since the Great War ended a few years ago, and America's navy was taking a special interest in keeping the peace. No one wanted a third World War on their hands, not so soon. Bucky was just thankful that no one had been stupid enough to enlist Steve until after the fighting was done.

"So no pretty women lining up to greet you when you docked… what, seven, eight days ago?" Bucky asked as they sat on a bench in Central Park, enjoying the still and silence in the center of a city that never truly went to sleep.

"As if," Steve snorted, smiling ruefully at his feet. Bucky's brow knit, and he bumped Steve with his shoulder lightly.

"Hey, don't look so depressed. It's their fault they can't see what's right in front of them," he reassured his friend, but the troubled look on Steve's thin face persisted and Bucky mentally cursed the entire female population of New York and the world. So Steve wasn't tall or strong or funny, so what? He was honest, and brave- sometimes to a fault- and one of the best artists in the city even if he only got paid for drawing show posters and news cartoons. If anyone deserved a good gal it was Steve, but as long as people kept passing him over he'd keep telling himself that he didn't care and he'd keep hating the sick body he'd been born with.

No mermaid was born hating their tail- that kind of loathing was taught when someone commented on dull scales, or an unpleasant color, and so the world had taught Steve that what was inside counted for less than how women looked at his outside.

"Yeah, I guess," Steve said, worrying the ground with the tip of his shoes.

"Ok, forget I ever mentioned girls," Bucky said, standing and hauling Steve up with him. "Who needs 'em? I know that what I really need right now is a drink, and a piano."

Steve frowned, confusion flitting across clear blue eyes but he still followed Bucky out of the park and back into the packed city, and didn't comment when they passed up three bars before finding one that didn't reek of cigarette smoke. When Steve said the first one was fine, and the second, and the third, Bucky just gave him a long-suffering look and said he wasn't killing Steve's lungs for some beer so they were going to walk all night if they had to find a non-smoking place.

Eventually they found one with suitable air quality- polluting the air, the sea, humans really could be the worst sometimes, Bucky scowled- and Bucky leaned up against the bar as he watched people dance. Steve sipped his beer quietly, and Bucky cast a sidelong glance at him, the dim light of the bar catching in his hair and the dust motes dancing around his face. For a brief, painful moment he wished that he was an artist because when Steve shipped out again he wouldn't see him for months, and the idea of swimming listlessly around Brooklyn Harbor for another half a year was going to drive him mad if he considered it too long.

Taking another sip of his drink to cover his scowl, Bucky ignored the constricted feelings in his chest and resigned himself to memorizing Steve's face, his voice, the way his eyes moved to watch the couples dancing.

"You don't have to sit over here with me," Steve said, smiling wryly at Bucky, who tried his best to look surprised. No dice. "Come on, Buck- I'm a bump on a log. Go dance- that girl's been eying you since we came in."

"Liar." He'd noticed a few minutes ago, but hadn't wanted to leave Steve. Human girls, though, human girls. For all their faults they sure could be something, long legs and bouncing hair and the way they danced sometimes. Mermaids didn't have dancing- it was one of Bucky's favorite things to do on land, but after he realized that none of Steve's partners lasted very long before finding someone they wouldn't step on he'd given up.

"Go on, jerk," Steve nudged him, and Bucky put down his beer as light bloomed in his chest.

"I owe you one, punk," Bucky called even as he made eye contact with the bright-eyed blonde across the room.

The woman's hands were smooth in his and her heels trailed on the floor with a delicious scraping sound as he whirled her into the midst of the other dancers. She smelled like roses and car exhaust but her hair was like silk on his cheeks and swinging with her was like walking on air, exhilarating and full of rhythm not even matched by the surging waves on a good day. Every time they turned Bucky caught sight of Steve's amused expression, until they rotated again and he was lost to upbeat music and laughter and the woman's red, red lips on his cheek.

Steve was holed up in his sketchbook the next time Bucky had his line of sight, so as soon as the dance ended Bucky politely excused himself from the girl's arms- her name was Brenda, or Betty, or something with a "B"- and made his way over to the piano in one corner. He passed the player a crumpled note and slid onto the bench, spreading his fingers in preparation. Taking a deep breath, he pressed them down and a low note reverberated throughout.

"How Luck You Are" by O'Conner and Cassen flowed out of the keys and Bucky met Steve's gaze across the bar when he looked up from his sketchbook, a loopy grin on his face. Steve shook his head slowly before returning to his drawing, but there was a smile tugging on his lips and as people reoriented themselves to listen to the music, getting drinks and quietly retiring to conversation.

Fingers flowing across the keys, Bucky lost himself almost completely in the music, resurfacing briefly to wink at Brandy and check on Steve- fragile glass sailor, setting Bucky's alert lights on constant red, fraying his nerves even when in sight. Part of the ringing in his ears was a welcome distraction from thinking about how much time he had left with Steve, how much he had wasted by waiting a whole week after the Avenger docked to see Steve, and what it would be like wandering the streets alone once he left again.

Steve had suggested that Bucky enlist, wondered, in the beginning of their friendship, if Bucky had fought in the Great War and merely gotten out. Bucky had lied- yes, he served, no, he wouldn't enlist again, for personal reasons, and Steve had left it at that, but he hated that Steve could never know that Bucky would serve in a heartbeat if it didn't mean giving up his tail completely. True assimilation could never be truly achieved- suppressing a tail for a few days was one thing, but weeks, months? Nearly impossible not to mention painful, which was why Bucky only ever worked night jobs, and only stayed in his apartment when Steve was docked.

The keys gradually fell silent and someone switched back on the jukebox. Bucky let his hands fall into his lap.

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"Don't get shot at," Bucky said, only half joking as he pulled Steve into a one-armed hug and tried to ignore the itching his legs. Three weeks and only slipping into the water a few times was taking its toll on him, and last night they'd crashed at Steve's place so Bucky didn't have a chance to relax while the harbor was quiet.

"Maybe a scar will impress someone other than you," Steve retorted, eyes drifting to one of his crew mates, Hodges, giving his girlfriend an obnoxious goodbye kiss that left Bucky wondering how they could still breath.

"No scars, no bullets," Ducky said sternly, and Steve nodded reluctantly.

"Take care of yourself, ok? Mrs. Vittone told me that you pulled a disappearing act and she didn't see you for weeks last time," he said. Bucky frowned, mentally noting to come around to his apartment more often this time- it was so easy to slip into the sea without word when Steve wasn't there to anchor him to shore. The human world has its pleasures, yes, but they were limited with no one to share them with.

"Focus on you. I'm allowed to travel when my best man is off risking his life," Bucky said.

"It's peacetime, genius," Steve shot back, but the ship rumbled beneath them and Hodge and his girlfriend had finally broken apart, which meant it was time to leave, finally.

"Still, don't do anything stupid while you're gone."

"I'm leaving all the stupid with you."

"Punk."

"Jerk."

Bucky walked backwards off the ship, hand brushing the railing to make sure he didn't fall and make a fool out of himself. When his feet finally hit solid ground Steve was still standing against the ship's railing watching him, but as the ship shuddered and began to move, cutting the water beneath it, Bucky could feel his heart sink.

A month only, and now Steve was gone again this time for who knew how long and Bucky was alone with New York for company, because none of his kind was brave enough to venture so far inland. As the water foamed beneath the surface of the ship Bucky could smell salt and exhaust and metal, man smells that were beautiful and bitter and left him wanting as the wind whistled past, grabbing at his hair and cloths. Steve got smaller and small, until Bucky couldn't even make him out on the deck but he stood on the dock for as long as it took for the ship to disappear completely.

Orange and red were streaking across the sky by the time he limped back to his apartment, determined to lock it up- and leave a message with Mrs. Vittone to keep her from worrying about him- before slipping into the harbor. The door creaked open, revealing the minimalist main room with a ratty couch, a kitchenette with an ice box in a corner. Through another door was a bedroom with a cot and dresser, but Bucky never got that far.

On the ratty couch, where it definitely should not have been, was one of Steve's sketchbooks, flipped open to the middle page.

Heart in his throat, Bucky approached and reached out a tentative hand to brush against the smooth paper. It was him.

Leaned over the bar piano, fingers caught mid-motion as he bowed his head, eyes half-closed as if in a trance. Even in shades of grey the vibrancy of the scene and of him was captured perfectly.

He let out a shuddering breath and flipped the sketchbook closed, cutting off his view of the priceless gift Steve had left for him. It would be safer hidden in the bedroom.

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His tail swirled the water gleefully, scales a welcome relief as skin was devoured and he slipped into the water, his clothes hidden safely in one of the abandoned warehouses on the harbor. The sky winked at him, reflected in the water's smooth surface barely rippled by wind; it was a quiet night, a blessing, and as he fully submerged he felt his gills waft against his neck.

Letting out a good-natured stream of bubbles, Bucky felt the warm cool of the water surround him, currents tugging at his fingertips, mild sea-life practically singing to him. He started humming quietly as he propelled himself towards the open sea, wanting at least a breath of fresh water before going back in. As much as he missed Steve, he did have a small life in the city, an infrequent factory job, and he couldn't do much dancing alone in the ocean.

"_My clothes are all in pawn_  
_Go down you blood red roses, go down_  
_And it's mighty draughty around Cape Horn_  
_Go down you blood red roses, go down_  
_Oh, you pinks and posies_  
_Go down you blood red roses, go down_

_It's round Cape Horn we've got to go_  
_Chasing whales through ice and snow_

_Oh my old mother she wrote to me_  
_My darling son come home from sea..."_

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**A/N: So, slow, I know- there is a plot here, I promise. Thoughts on Steve and Bucky's relationship? They met as adults, but they're still very close since Bucky practically lives on land anyway, with frequent sea trips just to stretch his fin, so to speak, but he doesn't have much of a life aside from Steve. I imagine mermaids are very solitary creatures by nature and there are few cities, and they form very few attachments, being primarily nomadic. I hope I'll find a way to explore this gracefully later and without an info dump- maybe someone reading mermaid lore?**

_Review!_


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: YAY more worldbuilding :P I love worldbuilding, it makes me so so so happy. I hope this is adequate and fascinating rather than boring. This is set sometime around the late 1940s (contrary to anything I may have said earlier), my alternate universe where WWII's been over for a few years but while society is stuck believing in peace many governments are gearing up for nuclear deterrents because they can't count on having no other wars, not after WWI was supposed to be The Last. SHIELD and the SSR both exist in this, as does the Red Room. **

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Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division

Field Report: Super Soldier Serum

Compilation By: John A. Kasell

Subject: Warning

Correspondence outlined below exchanged between Erskine, Abraham (Project: Rebirth) and Phillips, Chester (Strategic Scientific Reserve).

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TO: Erskine

FROM: Phillips

SUBJECT: Recruits

Doctor,

I could care less about your "dissatisfaction" with the candidates you've been given, but apparently diplomacy is something that exists and as head of this project I am required to use it. I've reviewed your complaints and none of them are grounds for dismissing an entire squad of healthy men willing to risk their lives on the small chance your serum will work, just because a few of them display "less than reassuring amounts of moral guidance and principles." War is won with soldiers, not niceness. It's on those grounds that I am clearing all candidates fit for training and they're shipping out for Camp Lehigh and you will consider them whether you want to or not.

At Agent Carter's request, you're being reassigned to England to continue looking for potential recruits. MI6 has been ordered to assist you in any way possible, and you'll have three weeks to bring another batch of recruits to the camp before training and trials begin. Your ship is the U.S.S. North Star; it leaves from Brooklyn Harbor in three days. You have three weeks to find recruits and collaborate with MI6. Agent Carter will be your shadow during the mission and is in charge of keeping you alive- Russia's nuclear program has been too active lately for us to rest easily, and at this point only civilians have the luxury of believing in permanent peacetime.

Colonel Chester Phillips

Strategic Scientific Reserve

S.H.I.E.L.D.

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TO: Phillips

FROM: Erskine

SUBJECTS: Recruits

Colonel,

I am sure I do not need to remind you of the monstrosity my first attempts at the serum created. The Red Skull, while already a twisted man, was warped beyond human recognition both externally and internally when he forced me to administer the serum. If my final calculations are correct, then the serum will amplify not only the physical, but the mental and spiritual elements of the subject, and you cannot convince me that the over-sized bullies you have sent for training will become anything other than super-sized terrors who do not understand the gift of strength. I do not have the authority to send them away, but I have warned you and when it comes time to make the final decision, I will be sure that my voice is heard.

I look forward to examining the English recruits, and finding some of my own. In the mean time, disturbing rumors have reached me that we have proof that Hydra has allied itself with the Red Room. If this is true, then Russia will surely attempt to recreate my serum or create one of their own- that means choosing an acceptable first test subject has become even ore imperative. This serum is not a tool of war, but of peace, but if the Russians or Hydra find a way to gain their own ruthless super soldiers then war with Russia will be inevitable and S.H.I.E.L.D. must be prepared not to create an army, but a preventative force. I did not intend my research to be used for mass killing, and if the trials are successful they will not be used as a new atomic bomb. I have created one monster- I will not help create another. I will have a final say in who the chosen subject is.

Doctor Abraham Erskine

S.H.I.E.L.D.

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There once was a little-known shop in London, full of old books and trinkets and overlaid with the smell of paper and parchment. People passed it by frequently, and those who did enter hardly ever left with anything clutched in their arms, too busy staring with wide mouths at the leather-bound tomes, the blown glass infused with seawater, the ancient globe on the third shelf by the door, to think of buying. So the shop continued on unnoticed, mysteriously still in business despite a lack of sales, and its proprietor continued to sit behind the counter and flip the pages of impossibly old books with a look of perpetual fascination contained in spectacle-shielded eyes.

Anyone who had the privilege to look into those eyes recounted feeling as though they were staring at the bottom of the ocean, depth-less and overwhelming, but others said it was like sunlight on water. Impossible secrets were held in those blue orbs yet also the ethereal beauty of turquoise waves and the inquisitive nature of darting fish. Even the way he moved was like the tide ebbing and flowing on shores of sand and rock, a careful strength in wrinkled hands and slow-moving feet.

No one knew that the man was from a remote village on the coastline, where waves crashed against rocks and the rising sun was hazed in mist so that it was almost always night, or close to it, where few people dared to live but those that did were serene and hardy folk. No one knew that in the misty mornings the man, in his youth, used to slip into the water and revel in the beauty of his red scales glimmering in spots of sun that pierced through the clouds. No one was supposed to know, but someone somewhere suspected something and when the man no longer lived by the sea and relied on an abnormally large tub on the floor above his shop, never left the inner city, someone wearing an eight-armed skull pin entered his shop with no interest in its books.

Except one.

It was a shame, people said- the bookstore had been such an oddity, something uniquely _London. _It was a staple of a generation's childhood, spent obsessed with faeries and mermaids and unicorns, to whom the thick books lent a sense of enchantment paperbacks and the library could not. Still, the man was forgotten as soon as his body was taken away, his things lost or sold or parceled away, and no one bothered to check the inventory of his ship. Bothered to notice that one book was missing.

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Property of: Hans Anderson

Vaasa, Sweden

July 12, 1848

I continue my pursuit of the elusive creature which has dominated my thoughts since as far back in my childhood as I can remember. She is one of many I have already met, and this journey has taken me down a road of knowledge I believe none before me have traveled. But I see her even in my dreams and although her fellows are helpful in suggesting where she may be, mermaid sightings are few and far in-between, and I have no way of knowing how close I am until I have met and inquired of another. As I rest, I find passages of the book I shall write- for my own academic interest, of course, these sea-wonders would never forgive me for disgorging their secrets upon my barbaric and unimaginative "scientific" fellows- coming to me, and think perhaps I shall simply record them here, rather than switch pens and books to bring out my scientific journal. It's such a hassle to move at all where I am, in a patch of sunlight just outside Vaasa, a little town overlooking the island of Vallgrud on the Gulf of Bothina- I hope to sight at least one mermaid while I am here who can point me in the right direction towards her.

A glimpse though, for myself, of what shall be _Christian's Compendium of Merfolk and Their Ways. In Sweden_ shall be the name of my travelogue of this place, a way to justify my incessant traveling and perhaps fund my next adventure.

"Solitary creatures, mermaids are so few in number that when taking into account their nomadic lifestyles judging their numbers accurately becomes incredibly difficult, if not impossible. If they do have a semblance of stationary society, their cities and communities would most likely be situated in remote places either inaccessible or far away from the reach of human expansion, although it is unlikely many of these communities exist and I have only met one merman thus far who calls a single patch of water home. Traveling where the tide takes them, mermaids can come in varying types, from common fish to shark- I have even seen one with the white and black of a killer whale, and was too afraid to chance a conversation lest they take more than physical aspects from that massive, awesome fish- and the variety of human-aquatic life mixtures are more varied than the range of skin tones among humans. Also similar to humans, they tend to be more comfortable in certain waters and climates than others, although their half-marine biology limits them more than humans are on land. For example, a mermaid who is half tropical fish would be unable to travel in the cold waters of the arctic, even if their human half acclimated to the cold climate as we above the ocean do.

I have also found, to my eternal fascination, that the myths of merfolk taking to land and staying indefinitely are just that- myths. They cannot go on land for an extended period of time without great discomfort, and must at some point return to any body of water, be it ocean or bathtub, and allow their true form to show at least for a moment before returning to human guise. I theorize that several weeks is as long as any mermaid would be able to go solely on legs and with no water contact. However, with a certain degree of subterfuge, it would be completely possible for a mermaid to live a human life without detection, and I do not doubt many do it already considering the degree of curiosity they have for our world. "

I find myself increasing tired, my pen growing heavy in my hand as scientific thoughts fade away in the wake of the warm sun, a rarity in this icy place even in summer. A mermaid with a dark tail told me that her kin frequent nighttime waters, anyhow- if I nap, I shall surely wake in time to track down a few in the Gulf, and return to my book at a later time.

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Letter to Outpost 3275

Mission failed- the book was not on the premises, but a journal written in Anderson's hand was discovered in the second floor safe. Send it to the doctor and tell him we await further orders concerning the search for the Compendium.

Hail Hydra.

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**A/N: So, a bit of jumping around, but I hope you're enjoying it so far. Please tell me what you think about my world, any questions you have, something you might like explored, something that I'm doing that you like, etc. **

**I have no idea when this story will be updated, since I've been writing so much lately and am about to get plunged back into work (I've used my brief respite to spawn this brainchild, thanks tumblr). I can say at least once a week, but maybe sooner. **

_Review! _


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